THE
FURROWED BROW
A Short Story
ERIC PRASCHAN
The Furrowed Brow
Copyright © 2013 Eric Praschan
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
This short story is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
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Novels by Eric Praschan
Therapy for Ghosts (The James Women Trilogy Book 1)
Sleepwalking into Darkness (The James Women Trilogy Book 2)
The Reckoning (The James Women Trilogy Book 3)
Blind Evil
For Marilyn Quigley,
who first believed in this story.
June 1st, 1705-
Case Study #73
Some have claimed that using a friend as a test subject provides an ethical dilemma. On the contrary, I believe that such a study may only prove problematic if the study should fail. My quaint country home seems the ideal location for my experiment since its only residents are me and my butler, Philip. In this way, the study will remain clear of distraction. My typical excursion into London for such a task would be inadequate, for this study shall differ from any I have conducted before it.
Some claim psychology is best studied at universities, but my fascination with the subject requires no schooling, only practical application. I have chosen my esteemed butler, Philip, as my subject because he is troubled with receding memory and the ill inclinations of old age. Consequently, he will remain unaware of his role in my examination.
I have no qualms thus far about proceeding with such an experiment. Past experience has provided me with confidence that applying role reversal techniques to a close acquaintance will generate an even more insightful response than the strangers of London. Philip’s several years of effective service as my butler have proved him to be noble and sensible, but he lacks the intellectual capacity to discern my clever, well-intentioned motives and methods. He simply responds to any stimulus with “Yes, Sir Anthony, whatever you deem necessary.” How intriguing the study shall prove to be! His ignorance is to become my bliss.
The experiment will commence tomorrow. I will inform Philip that I desire to experience the art of butlership. He may find this odd at first, but due to the many excursions of intrigue and often outlandish fancies that I entertain, he will think of it as little more than a part of my quest to be a renaissance man. Philip, with the broad generosity of his good heart, will comply with my wishes and become my master. With eager gratitude, I will become his butler and the experiment will begin.
I will confine my analysis recordings to a weekly reflection. My soul is thrilled, for this study shall define new territory in my analysis of human behavior. It will undoubtedly prove fascinating to become a servant for the first instance of my lifetime. Yet even more enthralling is the reality of the old man becoming my master. It will be the first taste of power to ever touch his being. I wait anxiously to observe what effect it produces upon him.
June 8th, 1705-
Case Study #73
The role reversal has been initiated with uncanny success. Philip, the old, confident eagle, conducts himself as master with ease and grace. He has become the master, while I have undertaken the duties of the servant.
Contrary to my first instinct that serving would be unbearable, I find my position strangely gratifying in its lowly state. I suppose humility holds its own honor. Cleaning the master’s dining plates, tending the garden with vigor and uncommon perspiration, and managing the duties that accompany my role have given me a newfound respect for Philip.
Furthermore, my admiration of his character finds additional supply in his handling of the new role he has stumbled upon. His requests of me come with an honest endearment, not a condescending tone. Perhaps it has always been in his nature to be a master.
My profound respect for Philip has caused my desire to study his behavior. His brow often furrows itself, as if perplexed by its own distinct design. It seems to be drawn with asymmetrical lines straining toward the center of his forehead, forming jagged indentations upon confusion. Some part of me believes that the furrowing of his forehead is not only confusion, but also a strange depth of disturbing insight. Perhaps he is troubled by always having been a servant.
Unlike his previous days as my underling, Philip has adopted a most peculiar behavior. Three times per day, in the morning, afternoon, and evening, he climbs and descends the winding staircase in the center of the house. Oddly, he chooses not to grip the staircase railing for support. Instead, he extends his arms in front of him, closes his eyes, and takes labored steps in a hobbling, disjointed rhythm. Without fail, he repeats this bizarre pattern, meandering like a blind man searching for some unknown destination. After the first day I noticed this spontaneous, new ritual, I inquired as to his reasoning for the action. He stared at me blankly and told me without a trace of guile or jest that he had absolutely no idea to what I was referring.
Besides that minor behavioral anomaly, Philip’s demeanor as the master has proven nothing short of amusing, fully entertaining the farthest reaches of my fanciful sense of intrigue. Considering my delight with the results thus far, I would not find it outlandish if the study should continue for many weeks or even months. Further depths wait below, and I must plunge deeper into this ocean.
June 15th, 1705-
Case Study #73
A drastic alteration has occurred this past week that has affected me with nothing less than the most severe shock. The old, curious crow has suddenly become a two-faced monster. During the precarious hours of the morning, he rises and sweeps into the kitchen, as if perturbed that my work has not been hasty enough. I present him with the morning meal, which he consistently scoffs at and pushes aside after two or three laborious bites. I find this rude conduct appalling, but not nearly as irritating as his next morning ritual.
Following breakfast, he promptly rises, announces his distaste for my food selection, and then sets about to take a stroll through the garden. With hands neatly folded at his waist in solemn propriety, he moves with a dignified air, inspecting the shrubs and flower arrangements with careful scrutiny. I watch him ever so closely, shadowing his steps, awaiting his judgment of my work. Though I have spent countless hours crafting the fragile creations to meet his strict standards, I am continually dismayed by his responses.
After perusing the garden in silence for a few moments, he inevitably begins shaking his head, as if the flower arrangements before him were far more hideous than anything his eyes had ever beheld. After delivering the belittling head shake, which feels like the bitter lashing of a whip upon my heart, he swiftly turns, glares unflinchingly at me, and proclaims, “Your service is absolutely unacceptable.”
How dare he make such a remark! Even in his most humiliating moments as my servant, when spilling a teapot or failing to remind me that certain plans had been arranged that I had neglected to remember, I had never once demeaned his character or criticized
his work. As master, I had treated him with the utmost respect. Apparently, respect is a concept foreign to him.
If pinpointing flaws in my work output is not enough, he leads his outlandish accusations into deeper waters by claiming that my character is questionable. He addresses me as “lazy” and “ungrateful,” terms that ironically have become his most predominant traits. In the bleak afternoons, for instance, he requires the company of tea and obscure literary pieces that I must find by rummaging through the library. I doubt that he ever actually reads the different books I must fetch for him, for when I check on him throughout the afternoons, he is consistently either asleep with jarring snores or jotting notes in a journal absentmindedly. I imagine his writing only supports his enduring quest for laziness, as he sits gazing out the window at the garden without plan or purpose of any sort.
At dinner, he refuses me the opportunity to join him at the main table, a courtesy I never once denied him. Furthermore, after demonstrating his displeasure with whatever main course I have carefully prepared, he furrows his brow, gathers the cup of tea he has hastily ordered, and promptly departs to bed, turning to state again, “Your